by Primula Bond
‘What about the fun?’ I badgered. ‘You said your members could equal my princes in every way.’
‘Fun. Ah yes.’ She smiled at me briefly, then seemed to wake up. The smile snapped shut, as if fun was a dirty word, and she folded her hands over my CV. ‘I’ll come to that. We, which is to say myself, who fixes the nuts and bolts, Miss Breeze, the lady you met in the hallway, who is overall manager, and the vacant position, who will assist her –’ here she absently tapped my CV ‘– we aim to run this establishment like clockwork, but make it seem as if the members are running it. We oversee and create everything from the cooking, the decor and the drinks in the bar, to the design of the bedrooms. We have come to love this building, the very bricks and mortar, and that’s what we require of whoever we recruit.’
I nodded. ‘I can identify with that. It’s a stunning building. But what about the fun element you were going to tell me about?’
Miss Sugar stopped stroking the desk, part of the fixtures and fittings which she obviously loved as much as she loved the bricks.
‘Well, our brief extends to planning any entertainment our members enjoy while they’re in town. We field their demands. We anticipate their demands. At the same time we have to treat them with kid gloves. It’s a far more personal service than, ah, secretarial work, I can assure you.’
‘The less secretarial the better,’ I exclaimed, throwing caution to the winds. ‘I told you, I can turn my hand to anything. And I came back to London precisely to do that. Everything on my CV is all in the past, Miss Sugar. I am looking for a change now.’
I looked pointedly round her old-fashioned room, remembering the classy design of the rest of the building, the unseen rooms, the bedrooms. The unseen members. Suddenly, I didn’t want to wriggle out of this interview after all. I wanted to stay.
Miss Sugar seemed to have calmed down a little. ‘We are looking for someone who will be able to meet those demands. Someone slick, and sophisticated, and discreet.’
‘Someone who can choose the right pot pourri.’
‘Exactly!’ she exclaimed and clapped her hands once, then dropped them again. ‘Someone who can keep everything ticking over, as I’ve described, and then, at any time of night or day, act like a hostess, both here and when our members are out and about. Sometimes they require accompanying, you see. Someone with taste, someone who looks expensive, but someone who can blend into the background if required.’
‘In other words, the role is hands-on, in every sense. What you’re describing here is a cross between a housekeeper and a hooker, right?’
She flapped her hand in front of her face. ‘Please, Miss Summers. You’ve totally misconstrued. Hands-on, certainly. I couldn’t have put it better myself. But I’m afraid that you’ve further convinced me that none of your skills, your colourful experience, nor your particular, ah, style, would be quite right for our discerning –’
‘Excuse me, Miss Sugar. Personal service, you said?’ I yanked the jacket crossly across my boobs again. It seemed she’d already made up her mind, so what the hell. It was time for shock tactics. ‘I can do personal service in spades. But I must say, this place doesn’t look like a house of ill repute. I couldn’t figure it out at first. To think I was expecting it to be an old people’s home!’
I thought I heard a snuffle of laughter from the hallway. I twisted to see if the dark lady had heard what I was saying, but instead of Miss Breeze, I saw a tall figure crossing the hall with a slightly shuffling gait, wearing a soaked raincoat and a Sherlock Holmes-style hat. All I could see of his face was greying stubble on his cheeks and chin.
‘Afternoon, Sir Simeon.’ Miss Sugar was practically curtseying in her chair. I gaped at her, and then at him. He looked like the local tramp, come in for shelter. He paused outside the door. I caught a glimpse of sharp blue eyes above angular cheekbones as he tipped his eccentric hat like an old-fashioned gentleman. He stamped away, and again I noticed the uneven pace of his steps.
Miss Sugar’s pale face had two points of pink on each cheekbone. With shaking hands she took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose.
‘One of your punters? Sorry, members?’ I asked. Miss Sugar shook her head, patted her hair, and handed me back my paper.
‘That’s the owner of the club: Sir Simeon Symes. Now do you see how wrong your assessment is? I’m dismayed that you thought this unique, refined haven could be a brothel. In fact, it’s designed to be quite the opposite. If anything, women are mostly kept out, rather than let in. Wives, girlfriends, mistresses – they are what our members mostly come here to avoid. In fact, there are only three women here on a regular basis. Me, Miss Breeze, and –’
She stopped. Her cheeks were still pink, and her eyes glittering with what looked like angry tears. I wondered who the lucky third woman would eventually be.
‘I didn’t mean to offend you, Miss Sugar. I get the picture. And it’s beginning to sound enticing.’ I smiled at her, trying to warm her up a little. ‘Three women, Sir Simeon and hordes of dozy gents.’
‘That’s the way he wants it, yes. Club Crème was his brainchild. He’s our boss.’
‘He doesn’t look like a Sir. He looks like a down and out –’ I stopped. Miss Sugar was looking star-struck, and the door was still open. ‘So why isn’t Sir Simeon interviewing me if he’s the boss?’ I asked.
‘He leaves all that to me. All the admin, finances, back office work, is down to me now. That’s why we’re looking for someone new for the front-of-house work. The meeting and greeting, the soirées, the parties, the flower arranging, the one-to-one . . . Well, now, I wouldn’t want to waste any more of your time. I can see the concept of catering to the needs and whims of a group of distinguished gentlemen might clash with your feminist principles. Like I said, I don’t think this position would be for you, Miss Summers.’
‘On the contrary, Sugar. Forgive me, but I think you’re quite mistaken.’ The dark lady came in to the room. I could smell a strong perfume sweeping off her, heady like wine. ‘I’m surprised that you’ve failed to spot this candidate’s obvious potential. But then again, this is the first interview you’ve conducted since you became administration manager, or whatever job title you gave yourself, so you are excused a few errors of judgment. As an interview, this session isn’t working. Let’s all take a break.’
Her hands rested on my shoulders and pressed down. I realised I’d been hunched up in the uncomfortable swivel chair. I also realised she’d been watching us from some hiding place. She pressed until my shoulders were relaxed, and the way she pressed made my head fall back, resting against her stomach.
‘Miss Breeze, I’m only concerned about our image. I mean –’ Miss Sugar said and glared at me, then stood up and took Miss Breeze by the elbow to steer her to the other side of the room. She lowered her voice a fraction, but I suspected she wanted me to hear every word. ‘That filthy beret and that suit that doesn’t even fit her properly. Surely that says it all? I can’t imagine that any of our members would feel comfortable being greeted by Miss Summers, the way she dresses. Let alone have her pouring cocktails for them, remembering their favourite soap, advising them of the best restaurants to go to, or going with them to the opera. Think of our reputation. It could be ruined in just one evening.’
‘Our reputation?’ Miss Breeze queried, also not bothering to speak quietly. I worked out there and then that it would not do to get on the wrong side of the dark lady. Her voice was like ice cutting through steel. ‘Remember you’re only an employee here, Sugar. Just like Miss Summers here. It’s my reputation that’s at stake, as maîtress d’. And, ultimately, Sir Simeon’s reputation. Not yours.’
Miss Sugar’s face pinched itself into a series of pained lines, and she groped behind her for her glasses but, just as I was beginning to enjoy her discomfort, the dark woman pulled off my beret and it was Miss Sugar’s turn to smirk. My hands flew up to my head, but it was too late. My hair looked like a bird’s nest this morning, all tangle
d and unbrushed. That’s why I’d tried to hide it.
‘Problem solved!’ Miss Breeze exclaimed, tossing the beret accurately into the bin and planting her hands on her hips. ‘Now let’s take a good look at our candidate.’
‘I think I’m the one who was conducting this interview, and I am telling you she isn’t right for the job.’ Miss Sugar sniffed, patting the papers on her desk, including my CV, into a neat pile. She gave me a pitying look. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t see the street urchin look suiting our purposes.’
‘Look, as far as I can see, you’re only looking for a glorified housemaid. I may not look the part right now, but just because I haven’t got the right clothes, doesn’t mean you can talk over my head as if I’m not here.’ I had had enough. It didn’t matter now what I said. ‘I did try to smarten myself up to come here today, but I had to borrow this suit from a friend who is much smaller and thinner than me. As you can see from my CV, which I’ll have back now, I’ve been living abroad for a while, where we mostly wore jodhpurs and sarongs.’
‘I like the sound of that,’ Miss Breeze said huskily, still standing behind me. ‘Sarongs and jodhpurs. How free. And how sexy.’
‘And when it comes to filthy berets, what about your boss? I thought he was a tramp walking in here just now.’ I smacked my lips shut in horror at what I’d just said, but neither of the other women flinched. In fact they both nodded.
‘He likes to go about London unrecognised,’ Miss Breeze said calmly. ‘So you were obviously fooled by his disguise, just like everyone else is.’
‘Whatever flicks his switch. But this isn’t a disguise,’ I said. I stretched towards the bin to retrieve my beret. ‘This is how I generally look. I’ve never been any good at putting on the posh, executive style you are obviously looking for. Or would it be some kind of demure uniform? The Mary Poppins look? Floral tea dress and sensible lace-up shoes, perhaps?’
I stood up to go, but Miss Breeze caught me. She smiled her wide red smile right into my eyes. ‘It could be whatever you wanted it to be.’
I flushed apologetically, unable to look away. ‘I didn’t really think this place was a knocking shop. Miss Sugar wasn’t giving me a chance. I just made that comment because I was feeling sore.’
She held out a red strand of my hair.
‘Good. Remember, there’s no room for hurt feelings and misunderstandings here. Now look. No tangles.’ She brushed the smooth strand against my cheek. ‘Let’s not beat about the bush any longer. You’ve got the looks and the body. You’ve got the attitude, too, with a little bit of refinement. The rest will be easy.’ She glanced across at Miss Sugar, then back at me. ‘I want you to take the job.’
She had been straightening out my hair without my noticing. There was something intensely sensuous about the thought. How was she to know I loved my hair being played with, or my skull being massaged? The perfume she wore was almost hypnotic, but so were her eyes, glittering and amused. She had taken off the fox fur coat, and wore a long blue velvet dress with a high neck and tight sleeves, buttoned at the wrist. It should have made her look like a spinster governess, but at every curve of her breasts and hips the velvet clung and gave off its own rich light, as if at any moment the velvet would melt away and her body would burst out.
‘I can’t see Sir Simeon agreeing –’ Miss Sugar started to protest.
‘It’s not down to Sir Simeon. How many times has he told us that he wants to forget the business side of things so he can just enjoy himself? If you can’t conduct interviews properly, Sugar, then it’s down to me until you’ve learned how to do it. And I say, forget the interview for today. The decision is made.’
‘Forget the interview?’ I asked. I didn’t understand.
‘I’m not sure I like this – this undermining of my position,’ Miss Sugar spluttered. I noticed that she had come more and more to life since Miss Breeze had entered the room, had become less and less see-through. Although she was twisting the arms of her glasses in her hands, she’d forgotten to put them back on. I wondered if they were simply an affectation. Her surprisingly attractive grey eyes looked sharp enough to me.
‘Miss Sugar is right in one sense.’ Miss Breeze was speaking to me as if Miss Sugar hadn’t uttered. ‘When she uses the word urchin. Today you could be one of those street entertainers, Miss Summers, who tap dance or stand stock-still or dress as Charlie Chaplin. But tomorrow you could be the Queen of Sheba. That’s just what we need. Versatility, I think we said in the ad?’
Miss Sugar sighed and held her hands up in surrender. Miss Breeze obviously knew how to soften a chiding with some subtle praise, and the coldness left Miss Sugar’s face. She scraped her chair back and came to stand beside Miss Breeze. The two women were like two sides of a photographic negative: one dark and vibrant, the other pale and deathly.
‘I don’t follow you, Miss Breeze,’ Miss Sugar said.
‘She’s versatility personified,’ Miss Breeze explained. She held my face and turned it from side to side. ‘Just the way Sir Simeon likes it. You could do anything with this pale sulky face and this crazy hair. It doesn’t take X-ray eyes to see that under all this tat there’s a beautiful womanly body. You still have a lot to learn about recruitment, Miss Sugar, but never mind. The interview, such as it was, is terminated.’
‘You mean I can go?’ I asked, ready to put up a fight if they planned to eject me.
‘I mean we are offering you the job, so we can drop the formalities. We can take this ugly duckling and make her into whatever kind of swan we choose.’
‘I’ve been called a lot of things, but never a duck,’ I joked feebly, looking from one to the other of them as they surveyed me.
Before I could say anything else, let alone accept or turn down the job, Miss Breeze took hold of the jacket, and wrenched it down my arms, ripping the undone silk blouse down with it. My breasts swelled out with shock, the delicate lace of my bra emphasising their size. I had failed dismally to conceal my shape today. The two women gazed knowingly at my breasts until my nipples started to shrink and harden under their scrutiny, the reddening points poking visibly through the cream silk. There was nothing I could do to disguise the signs of arousal.
Miss Breeze turned me to face a full-length mirror. She pulled my hair off my face and twisted it into a knot. Miss Sugar came close on my other side and slid her hands up the sides of my breasts, pushing them up further. I pulled my shoulders back and threw a dark look at the mirror.
‘Surprising, that underwear,’ Miss Sugar mused, stroking her fingers across the bra. The flesh of my breasts rose higher. ‘Very expensive, I can tell. Perhaps there’s hope for her, after all.’
Both women smiled at each other across my reflection. ‘Today the urchin,’ remarked Miss Breeze, ‘tomorrow the courtesan.’
Outside the room, those distinctive limping footsteps stopped.
‘Did I hear the word thoroughbred earlier on?’ demanded a deep voice from the doorway. ‘Were we talking about horses, or the pedigree of the club members?’
The two women laughed.
‘The former, Sir Simeon. We were talking about horses,’ answered Miss Sugar. ‘Miss Summers here used to work with horses out in the desert.’
I was surprised that she didn’t remove her hands from where they were fingering my underwear. In fact, she pulled my blouse open further so that the full glory of my breasts and underwear was on display. I didn’t dare look to see the expression in Sir Simeon’s blue eyes.
‘And are we hiring Miss Summers to work for us now?’ he enquired, not moving from the door.
‘That’s right.’ It was Miss Breeze’s turn to speak. ‘Although she hasn’t actually accepted the post.’
It was a few beats before I realised I was expected to speak. I was too busy enjoying the way the two women were fiddling about with my hair and clothes. For too long I had been the one doing all the touching. I had learned massage in Brazil. I had practised it in Egypt. As an employee, I was used to shaki
ng hands and grooming horses. As a woman, I was constantly fending people off to avoid offending the prince. Now Miss Sugar’s hands were dangerously close to my nipples. She half-heartedly disguised the movement by pretending to measure me as if she was a dressmaker. If I moved an inch, her fingertips would make contact. The prince wouldn’t have objected to that.
Meanwhile Miss Breeze continued to play with my hair, massaging my head and neck at the same time, so that I was putty in her hands. The more they touched me, the more I realised that, though I could feel myself responding to them, they were only really softening me up for the male attention I needed more.
‘Yes, OK.’ I broke the busy silence. ‘If you think you can smarten me up, and pay me well to “front your house”, I’ll come and work for you.’
‘That’s great,’ Miss Breeze said and clapped her hands. ‘Don’t worry, I wasn’t serious when I said courtesan. At least, not this time. We just want to find out what you’re really like underneath all this polyester.’
I looked at Miss Sugar, for some reason anxious for her approval. Her lips pressed into a thin smile, and she slipped her glasses back up her nose.
Sir Simeon stepped into the room. I could sense the two women standing to attention. I straightened my spine in the chair and let him take my hand to give it a brisk shake. His hand was warm. A faint aroma of cigar smoke and eau de cologne wafted off the tweed jacket he had been wearing under the old raincoat. Above the startling blue eyes, he wore his steely grey hair cropped close, which made him look more like a retired American general than a rich English lord.
‘I wonder if I might hijack Miss – Summers, is it – before you set about ripping off too much of the polyester? I need her just as she is. Well, perhaps not in that particular outfit, but unspoiled, certainly. There’s a short assignment I have for her back at the ranch.’
‘Assignment?’ Miss Breeze stopped massaging my head and rested her hands on my shoulders again, partly, I thought, to keep me in my chair. Her voice was suspicious. ‘What exactly do you want her to do?’
